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Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Rude Boy's Trip

Since yesterday we did something I
wanted to do, today we're doing something Soymilk wants to do. Ever
since the first time he visited Toukyou four years ago, he's wanted
to take me to a maid cafe, and for just as long, I've steadfastly
refused. But now I have a blog. Soymilk is determined that we look
our best, because he “feels sorry for the girls when they have to
talk to ugly loser guys all day.” He isn't satisfied with my
clothes and makes me wear some of his. Then he does my hair. I look
in the mirror and have to admit that, hey...I actually kind of look
fucking good. I resemble a fashionable and fairly stylish Japanese
guy. He goes for the suave schoolteacher.

Rude Boy: So are we ready for
Akihabara? Or Akiba, as the uncool kids call it.

Soymilk: Or Seichi, as the even
uncooler kids call it.

Rude Boy: Seichi?

Soymilk: As in “Sacred Land.” An
actual Japanese otaku taught me that one.

My interests have broadened since high
school so the impact has dampened, but Soymilk thinks it's the
greatest place ever. Our first stop is a seven-storey manga shop next
to the Taito building. The first two floors are mainstream, the next
one up is doujinshi, and then everything after that is three solid
floors of porn. So is the basement. It's a truly staggering number of
volumes, shelved floor to ceiling in narrow aisles, organized by
fetish. The clerks greet us with an unnervingly casual
“irasshaimase,” and I really wish they wouldn't, because in a
place like this, I'm pretty sure I'd rather be ignored.

Many titles are labelled “for adult
only,” just in case you couldn't guess from the covers. Customers
are of all ages and all walks of life, and Soymilk and I discuss what
it must be like to run into, say, your teacher. There is also one
couple, and the girl is quite adventurous about picking stuff up and
flipping through it. She's pretty good-looking. So is the one girl
working the register, which I would think would be a sales deterrent.
Soymilk once left with two full bags of interesting stuff, and is
convinced that we're not going to leave until I buy something. I
don't.

With that done, it's time for the maid
cafe. I almost die of humiliation en route. Basically, I can see no
conceptual difference between maid cafes and prostitution. And I
don't have any moral objection to either, but I the idea of doing
either one myself makes my skeezes me right out. Soymilk assures me
that embarrassment is normal, and maybe part of the fun.

We're handed a list of rules in English
and Chinese, the last of which is “no asking for maids' personal
information.” Makes perfect sense, but it raises some interesting
questions. What constitutes “personal information?” No asking for
mail addresses, sure, but how about whether or not they're originally
from Toukyou? Their opinions on current events or cultural fixtures?
What about their job? Obviously they'd say they love it, if they said
anything at all, but what if I asked why they took it? What do their
friends think? And, by the way, what do their boyfriends think? Cause
Soymilk and I would both totally be ok with it. Also, how stringent
is this rule? Will first-time transgressors be given a gentle
reminder, or will the slightest intimation be met with the sole male
employee leading them out by the scruff of their necks?

A maid appears, leads us to our table,
and all but sits on the floor beside us, which makes me feel all
gross again right after I'd pushed it down. Then she tells us to ring
a bell when we're ready to order, and I nearly start formulating a
graceful exit strategy right then and there. I take a look around the
cafe. There are a few scattered tables, a single long one, a bar, and
a stage. The customers, contrary to my imaginings, are mostly
college-aged, with one rather smarmy older guy buying a ton of stuff
and strutting around the place as if by winning the girls' attention
he has accomplished something. On Soymilk's recommendation, I take
the A Course, which includes a photo and a souvenir box of cookies.
He gets a “furifuri shakkashakka” drink, which is made up of two
random flavours chosen by the maids, then mixed in a cocktail shaker
in front of you...with an accompanying song. That you have to
participate in.

I'm handed a cork board of pictures
that look like they were taken by a serial killer, and instructed to
pick a maid from amongst them for my picture. It's a tough call, but
one stands out, partly because she's kinda my type, and partly
because in her photo she's kneeling on the ground, leaning slightly
forward, and making an extremely sexual face at someone or something
off-camera. Mortifyingly, they call my name over the speaker when
it's time, and I have to go up on stage. My fears that she might be
less hot in person are very much allayed.
Pro tip: When they ask you which set of animal ears you want to wear,
ask them to pick for you. They like it. Then you pose together and
they write on your photo, which you treasure forever and keep in your
wallet for four years. Or you do if you're Soymilk, anyway.

I picture the maids getting together on
breaks and talking shit about their customers. “God I hate that
guy. Have you seen the way he
stares at us when he thinks nobody's looking? What a fucking creeper,
no wonder he comes to us.” Soymilk is of the opposite view,
believing that most of them probably have a sort of affection for
their regulars. “They're so sad. That's why places like us exist.
They just need someone to love them.”

As one final thing before we leave,
Soymilk requests a game session with his favourite maid in the joint,
and we approach the bench to play. The diceroll yields one where you
have to steal bones from an electronic dog without it biting you. The
two of us keep a razor eye on both the timer and the scorecard, and
by the time it's finished it's terribly obvious that she's nudged her
own significant lead into a tie. He wins a coin for his efforts,
which she has him put into a machine and wins...a picture with her!
And not a wallet-sized one, but one of the bigger ones that you
normally have to pay extra for. Our chosen maids bring us our
developed photos and chat with us until our time's up, and Soymilk
pretends not to speak Japanese very well so that I can enjoy the
attention. His follows us to the door to see us off. Pretty good
service.

I got a "box of cookie" with my A Course, you'll recall. Fancy box. Let's open this up...

OMFG!!!!

A package holding eight cookies, which are all also individually packaged.

Rude Boy: Good call on the clothes.

Soymilk: They seemed to be really
interested in our ryuugakuing.

Rude Boy: Sure, they probably don't get
too many foreigners they can actually talk to.

Soymilk: My maid was totally into me.

Rude Boy: That's what they all say.

Soymilk: I could just tell...it was in
her attitude. Like it wasn't all fake like some of the others.

Rude
Boy: Yes, but think about this, do you think she did that because she
was into you, or because it's store policy to let first-time
customers win? Or maybe even because we're foreigners and she cut us
a break?

Soymilk:
She was into me. I can tell.

He
will spend the rest of the night bringing her up every fifteen
seconds, and later find her ameblo.

Random foreign guy: Hey, excuse me, are
you guys from here?

Rude Boy: Kinda. I'm actually from
Kansai.

Random foreign guy: Oh, great. Do you
guys know anything fun to do around here?

Soymilk: Have you been to a maid cafe?
Or the arcade?

Random foreign guy: Yeah, we just came
from there, actually...I'm pretty sure we've seen basically
everything Akihabara has to offer.

Rude Boy: How about three floors of
cartoon porn?

In case you were wondering.

Hey, it's Cool Old Dude! I thought they'd have taken this down when he was defeated.

Hey, it's Akiabaoo from Akiba's Trip!

Hey, it's the Sega Building from Akiba's Trip!

As our last stop before heading home,
we hit the arcades for a bit, playing a couple rounds of MaiMai and
then Pop.

Rude Boy: Is this song off?

Soymilk: Um, no...the whole game is
off.

Finally, we locate a Gundam capsule
machine. It looks kind of lame from the outside but if you like
Gundam, trust me man, these things are fucking awesome. Basically
Gundam is a large collection of loosely related anime series about
various political factions waging war with giant humanoid robots
called mobile suits. It's less stupid than it sounds. Although not by
much. Anyway if you watch it enough it becomes very easy to imagine
yourself as a mobile suit pilot, and this game lets you live out that
dream. You can even connect to other people playing in totally
different parts of the country and go on team missions together,
acquiring better machines and stronger equipment as your infamy
grows. You see? Arcades aren't quite dead yet.

The Internet doesn't have much in the
way of instructions, and it's heartbreaking to lumber around stupidly
not knowing how the hell to control your ZAKU II (or GM, if you're
lame), even if it does have the effect of making you feel like a real
pilot slowly learning the ropes. So here's a few pointers if you've
never played: The hand controls operate your machine's feet
(obviously!). To shuffle sideways, move both left or right; to turn
on the spot, move one forward and one back. The right index trigger
fires your primary weapon and the left one swings your melee weapon.
The thumb buttons are for your special weapons. The right pedal
boosts – maintain steady pressure because the boost ends
immediately and becomes unusable for several seconds after
disengaging, so you can't cheat the metre by feathering. The left
pedal jumps, and a midair depression will fire up your jetpack,
allowing a brief hover. It can be frustrating to start but it's rad
once you get it down!

About Me

I've been studying Japanese language and culture since 2004 and have twice studied abroad to Kyouto. Veterans can enjoy my pratfalls, and newcomers should be able to gain some insight into life here. Maybe.